


... crept up on me and stole me away

by liquorisce



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, rivetra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28051047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquorisce/pseuds/liquorisce
Summary: levi, petra... and 3 frustrating kisses.
Relationships: Levi/Petra Ral
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	... crept up on me and stole me away

**Author's Note:**

> this was something that was collecting dust in my notes folder, so thought i'd share :)

The first time they kiss, it doesn’t even count, he’s injured and he’s resting and she only wanted to bring him tea. There’s something peaceful about how relaxed he looks, almost smiling, his mouth free of the hard line that it is always set in. 

He’s in the middle of a dream, she discerns, amused, as she sets right the bed covers that he’s kicked away, when she suddenly realizes how close his face is. How much she wants to touch it.

He’s drugged and fast asleep, and she knows it’s wrong, bordering unethical but she lets her lips graze the corner of his mouth, a slight shiver of pleasure creeping down to her bones. 

…

The second time, it’s not just her being a creeper and she really doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“There’s some annoying, official work that has come up in the capital. Petra and I will be riding to the Inner City in a few hours,” he announces at breakfast. 

When they are on their way, she asks, “On what business are we traveling to the city, Sir?”

“… Erwin has set up some strategy discussions with the higher-ups,” he responds, disinterested. 

“… If you don’t mind me asking, Sir,” she considers her next words carefully, because he’s never needed her for these meetings before, “why did you specifically request my presence on this trip?" 

He takes a minute before responding, quietly, "… I thought we might stop for the night and visit your Father on the way. You mentioned that he had been unwell." 

She did her best to control herself from beaming. "… Thank you, Sir." 

.

Levi was a surprisingly decent conversationalist. Granted his sentences were never longer than four words, but the very fact that he sat down at the dinner table with her and her father and answered her father’s - rather embarrassing - questions was a pleasant surprise. 

"… Well,” her Father began, in that fatherly tone that usually heralded a very unwelcome topic of conversation. “You’re twenty-three now, Petra, have you thought about settling down?" 

"… Dad,” she begins, exasperated because they’ve been over this before and on the other hand, mortified because this is not the kind of conversation you have when your superior is sitting at the table. 

“… Mark has already asked for your hand in marriage numerous times, you know. The boy is still completely besotted with you." 

If Levi stabs at his meat with a little more force than required, nobody notices it. 

"Dad, I’m part of the Survey Corps now. I’d like to focus on my career,” - 

\- "… Who’s Mark?“

"… No one of importance, Sir” - 

\- "… The Blacksmith’s son,“ her father says, more than happy to fill Levi in on the details, "He and Petra were quite the item when they were in school." 

"… We most certainly were not an item!”

“… Now, Petra, sweetheart, there’s no need to be shy,” - 

\- "… Thank you for the dinner, Mr. Ral,” he says, getting up with an air of chilling finality. “I would like to be excused now if that’s okay.“ 

"… Captain,” she starts, not wanting him to feel awkward - 

\- "… Goodnight Petra,“ he says, shortly. And without the slightest intimation – or rational thought - he proceeds to drop a brief kiss on her mouth, and walks away. 

.

.

.

The third kiss is when things really start to get messy. 

It’s messi-ER because Levi hasn’t brought up the second kiss, nor even acknowledged it, having so conveniently and comfortably settled back into his chaise lounge of denial, that if it weren’t for the absolute mortification of her father being there to witness the kiss-that-didn’t happen - and his persistent inquiry into the nature of their relationship - she’d have convinced herself that she’d dreamt up the whole encounter. 

But the third time it’s late, there’s alcohol involved, and Erwin and Hange decide it’s time to call it a night. 

"… Tch. That stupid Four-Eyes can’t even hold her liquor.”

She does her best to hold back her laugh, but she’s drunk and it turns out to be a completely, and utterly graceless snort. 

“… What?” He snaps, irritably, taking a generous gulp of his brandy. “… God, Erwin’s making me drinking old-people alcohol now." 

It takes a minute for him to notice her looking at him like that, an amused expression on her face. "… Oh.” He narrows his eyes, “… You think I’m drunk." 

"… No sir, not at all,” she doesn’t smile, not at all, just that her mouth cracks in a giggle, a little bit, “… I’m the one who’s drunk,” because she was, “really, really drunk,” just like him, who could deny it all he wants, but she noticed the two drops that he spilled while pouring himself that last drink. And Levi never ever, spills anything. 

“… You’re looking at me in that way again,” he grumbles, “when you think I’m wrong and you want to say something." 

She gasps because, "I would never, ever,” - and how could he even think that?! - “think you’re wrong, Captain.” Except when he makes them clean the same furniture for the third time in the day because he’s certain he could see a speck of dust that was otherwise invisible to everyone else’s eyes. 

“… You’re lying, Petra,” he says, matter-of-fact, “Your eyes are widening to an unbelievable extent, where it’s not just amber anymore and it glows like gold in this freakish way which is kind of beautiful,” - _What_? - “and you’re chewing on your lower lip. You do it every time. Like that time I tasked Eren with cleaning the stables and he did such a bad job that you decided to cover for him." 

Petra is, quite frankly, stunned. Speechless, even. (There’s no way she can be that obvious!)

He throws her a look of annoyance. "… I don’t even understand why you cover for the boy. Is there something going on between the two of you” - 

\- “Captain!” - 

\- “It’s obvious the kid likes you. He keeps staring at you while training. Filthy teenage boys and their filthy hormones,” - 

“Sir,” she raises her voice, “there is nothing going on between Eren and I. He’s like a little brother to me.” The kid was fifteen, for god’s sake. 

She ignores the ‘Tch’ that she gets in response. 

She is more concerned with the erratic flip thingy her heart is doing after the Captain called her beautiful – surely, she was imagining this - and wait, does he really notice her so much? 

It makes her think of last night at her Father’s. It makes her think of his lips on hers, and how she couldn’t really sleep after that, and it doesn’t really help the uneven situation with her heart.

“… Anyway, I’m going to sleep. You should too, Petra. We leave early tomorrow." 

"… R-right,” she stutters, doing her best to collect her thoughts, following him as they make their way up the stairs to their respective rooms. 

She wonders if she should ask him about it, ask him what it meant. And why he did it. The Captain didn’t seem like the kind to throw kisses around. 

Come to think of it, he’d never mentioned a partner. Not even a lover. 

She lets out an involuntary gasp when it hits her - maybe he prefers men instead - 

A sharp thud brings her to her senses, her dulled reflexes still quick enough to grab Levi as he stumbled on the cracked wooden stairway. “… Captain!" 

"… I’m okay,” he grumps, clearly embarrassed. 

And clearly drunk, Petra notes with a soft chuckle, as she tightens her grip on his shoulder. It’s a heady feeling, being able to support the Captain like this, it feels more intimate, even though she knows she shouldn’t, especially considering her most recent revelation. 

“… You’re not mentioning this to anyone,” he mutters, “especially not that shitty Four-Eyes. It’s an order." 

She grins, as they make their way to his room. "… Of course, sir." 

"… You can let go of me now, Petra,” he informs her, speech only slightly slurring, as they stand in front of his room door… even though he’s the one who’s still clutching her waist. 

She doesn’t point this out to him, of course, removing herself reluctantly from his grasp. 

She hesitates to leave him like this. In part because she’s worried he’ll pass out before he makes it to the bed, and mostly just because - for the first time, possibly in all eternity - Levi Ackerman is being _cute_. Seeing the Captain with his defenses lowered, vulnerable, _depending on her_ … 

It makes her heart hurt, just a little bit.

She watches him struggle with the key for a minute, and then takes it from him gently, opening the door and leading him to the bed. Just as she feared, he falls face first onto the bed, not bothering with his shoes or anything else. 

Slowly, doing her best not to wake him, she manages to turn him on to his back. She watches him as he sleeps, and dispenses him of his coat and shoes. “… There you go,” she says fondly, allowing herself the honour of ruffling his bangs slightly, and covering him with the blanket. 

And just as she’s about to leave, retire to the privacy of her own room where she can deal with the magnitude of these feelings, she feels a tug on the sleeve of her shirt.

“… Stay,” he mumbles, eyes contentedly shut, sleep and alcohol blurring the lines between appropriate and completely not, “… Stay with me, Petra.”

It takes a moment for her to process what he’s saying. It takes another to scramble for words. 

“… Sir,” she manages, eloquently, sounding a little strangled. 

“… Please." 

And it is at this point, somewhere between her eagerness to slip off her own coat and shoes, and rustle the covers aside, that she realizes just how _ruined_ she is for him. 

.

. 

She’s always smelled like sunflowers. 

He reaches over to spoon her, delighting in the way she presses back against him, warm curves pressed up against his aching desire. 

"… Good morning, Petra,” he whispers, seductively, nipping at her earlobe. He lets his mouth travel lower, kissing a trail down her neck, as she moans - 

\- The low, breathy sound that escapes her lips is enough to wake him up. His eyes open with a start, the tell-tale sign of a hangover slowly starting to drum inside his head. 

He’s appreciative of the sweet-smelling warmth that envelopes him… up until the point where he blinks to see clearer. 

The memories from last night are worse than a rebound acid hit. 

His face is inches away from soft, ginger hair, fanning out into the pillow, his mouth softly grazing the curve of her neck, his hand insouciantly spanning her bare waist, - possibly due to her shirt having ridden up at some point in the night or equally likely because his fingers had found his way under the cotton garment - his lower half straining against the fabric of his trousers… and he realizes just how _fucked_ he really is. 

.

.

.

They don’t talk about it. Unsurprisingly.

They rarely have the opportunity to, what with Erwin’s plan to take the Wall back, and Hange’s constant experiments with Eren’s titan form. 

Levi is more careful than ever to make sure that they’re never alone together. He isn’t sure if Petra is fully aware of what he’d done to her - and it makes him sick to even think about it. 

He knows Petra. Sweet and unbelievably generous to a fault. And it disgusts him to think that he would have taken advantage of her in this way. 

And in the middle of the night, tortured by thoughts of her soft, lustrous hair, her skin, bare underneath his touch, and her beautiful, beautiful mouth, he wakes up, drenched in sweat and far worse, filled with the worst kind of guilt. 

.

.

.

He can’t keep it up forever though. 

He’s up early again, the lack of sleep keeping him perpetually cranky. There’s only two ways to let off steam, slicing up some disgusting titans or killing himself with his morning workout. 

But when he steps outside, he’s thoroughly unprepared for the sight in front of him. 

He was face-to-face with the last person he wanted to see (but secretly wished to do so anyway). 

Well not so much face-to-face, more like face-to-glorious-chest, that was making his breathing increasingly laboured, as she continued, blissfully unaware, with her ab crunches. 

“Oh,” she exclaims, - deliciously - out of breath, “Good morning, Captain! I couldn’t sleep very well, so I decided to get an early start." 

That makes two of us, he thinks, mouth dry, as he tries desperately to ignore the bead of sweat that trickles down her neck. 

When it finds its way into that sweet, sweet hint of cleavage, he almost chokes. 

"… Captain? Is everything okay?”

.

.

.

Levi always knew he was justified in his hatred for Hange and it’s reinforced when they arrive, cheerful at the buttcrack of dawn - what the fuck, for?! - interrupting his _moment_ with Petra. 

(AKA his painstaking effort to keep his eyes on her face whilst trying to converse)

“Yo Levi,” they say, with the kind of energy he isn’t ready for, “isn’t today just beautiful? The sun is shining, and the flowers are blooming, and you can almost just forget that titans have decimated a third of our population! Don’t you agree, Petra?" 

"Um, it’s nice Hange-san, but I don’t know if that’s something you can forget…” - 

“… Not everyone shares your macabre sense of optimism, four-eyes,” Levi bites out, annoyed, but grateful that Hange’s presence has made a decent man out of him. 

“Well, optimism is needed when you’re about to set crucial plans into motion,” they whisper gleefully, taking him aside to continue their conversation, “We have a plan to draw out the female titan!" 

”… I see. Exciting indeed,“ he quips dryly. ”… And why couldn’t we discuss this in front of my subordinate, again?“ He sneaks a glance at her, having diligently gone back to her strength training routine. 

"Because you kept ogling your lovely subordinate,” Hange remarks, his nervous glances not lost on them, “… as you continue to do even now, clearly." 

"Hm,” he grunts, having tuned out most of Hange’s words, because he’d been noticing Petra’s plank form, perfect as always, giving him an excellent view of her rear in her training shorts. His cheeks flush as he recognized (and berated) the depth of his perversion. 

“… Care to explain what that’s about?” Hange cuts in, rudely snapping Levi out of his trance, and amused grin playing out on their face. 

He looks back at Hange, and he knows, the blood rushes back into his cheeks, because he’s realised that now even _they_ know. 

“… _Nothing_ ,” he emphasises gruffly, eyes gesturing for the well-meaning squad leader to leave things well and truly alone. 

“Did you two finally…?” Hange’s eyes raise, grin widening as Levi’s stoic demeanour cracks ever-so-slightly. “No fucking way,” they gasp, “I definitely ship you two, but I didn’t think you’d actually,” they look at him, feigning shock, “ and she’s so pretty, I can’t believe you managed to,” - 

“I know. Now will you _please_ _shut up already_.”

“… Wait,” Hange did a double-take, “Did you just admit Petra Ral is _pretty_?" 

There’s a moment of silence that passes between them, observed mostly for Levi’s recently demised sense of dignity. 

What was he to do? He couldn’t _deny_ it, because, honestly, _nobody_ could deny how fucking pretty Petra Ral is. Instead, he tries to keep his tone calm, ”… _keep your voice down, four-eyes_.“ 

”… Oh.“ They let out a gasp, eyes misty, ”… She has no fucking clue, does she?“ 

.

.

.

Life was short. Or so he’d been told by the crazy brown-haired fiend sitting at the other end of the table. 

"Tell her tonight,” they’d laid down, firmly, “consider this an order if you have to," 

”… Wait, are you even my superior?“ - 

"For god’s sake, Levi! Just fucking tell her you’re in love with her or whatever,” - 

“ _Hange,_ ” he whispers, embarrassed, because you didn’t throw words like love around just like that until you went on a few dates or at least knew the other person’s favourite sex position… right? 

“…. At least _someone_ has to get laid in this fucking division!" 

So, with this ultimatum in mind, he sits across from her at the dining table, trying to project his thoughts over to her with the strength of his gaze. 

”… Right,“ she chirps nervously, ”… I’ll get the dishes today.“ She picks up the bowls from her peers, reaching for Levi’s without meeting his eyes. 

"I’ll help dry them,” Auruo starts, making to get up and go after her. 

Levi narrowed his eyes at him. Exactly how many of these slimy-ass perverts did he have to get through? It’s like she has a whole line waiting for her attention. (And when the rational part of Levi’s mind pointed out that he was just as slimy and perverted and likely to stand in line as the rest of them, he was quick to shut it down definitively.)

“… I’ll do it,” he says, earning looks of surprise from the rest of his team. He was usually the one overseeing the cleaning operations, and the dishes weren’t particularly his favourite cleaning activity.

“It’s okay, captain, I’ve,” -

“… I said I’ll do it,” he says sharply, glaring at Auruo with a tinge of unnecessary venom. “Now get to bed all of you. I don’t wanna hear excuses from you idiots about how you didn’t get enough rest tomorrow." 

.

.

. 

"Captain,” she exclaimed, as her eyes lit up, when he approached her, towel in hand. “You really didn’t have to…" 

He grunts, secretly happy to have seen her feel happy for his presence, to have had her attention on him for that brief moment, unlike the rest of the evening, where she chatted amiably with the rest of the boys, all easy smiles and friendly touches, while she plainly avoided his gaze. 

He knew it was his fault, the frequent mental throwbacks to the image of his hand on her bare waist, reminded him each time, but he was ashamed to recognise that there was some irrational jealousy every time she noticed one of the other boys or laughed really hard at their jokes. 

They’re quick - and efficient, obviously - Petra is fast at washing dishes, and Levi is faster at drying, so the heavy silence doesn’t last as long as it feels like it does. 

Petra is the first to break. "Captain,” she says slowly, and he notices she’s slowed down the scrub of the bowl as well, gripping it tightly, “I-I think we should talk about what happened the other night." 

Levi inhales sharply. She’s braver than he is and he’s not sure how he feels about that. She winces, mistaking his hesitance for exasperation, "I-I know it must be annoying, and unnecessarily awkward for you,” she’s talking quickly, and she’s completely stopped washing the bowl at this point, “I’m sorry I forced myself into your room.” She hangs her head in shame, light brown bangs hiding the dusty rose colour in her cheeks. 

Levi looks at her, amazed, speechless, because he knew, _conceptually_ , that two people _could_ have very different versions of any event, but _this_ …?! 

“… and… I’m sorry I stayed into the night…” She looks at him, ashamed and remorseful, and there’s a slight bit of dread that creeps into him - _did she regret it? Had his actions creeped her out beyond the point of no return?_ \- but she continues. “It’s so… unbecoming of my position…" 

He has to say something at this point, _anything_ , because hearing this regret is too difficult for him and - ”… I didn’t mind.“ 

She blinks at him. He blinks back, comprehension slowly drifting back to him. _I didnt… **mind**? _For fuck’s sake, it’s all he’d been thinking about since then! 

She’s not sure how to feel, because she isn’t prepared for this answer, isn’t prepared for how much she dislikes it. It’s not like she expected roses and a sonnet in her name, but reducing their night of (drunk) passion to ‘i didn’t mind’ was just too cruel. She opts to stay quiet, unsure of how to speak with this strange fury filling her. 

He watches her eyes, stormy as if she’s restraining herself, and he cringes. “… I only wish I’d been somewhat more sober.”

“… Does that mean Heichou doesn’t remember what happened that night…?” Her face is pink, and he can imagine his isn’t too different, because how could he not? Not when he’d woken up like that, to the sight of lush curves and silken hair spread across his sheets. Not when he’d pretended to sleep in just because he was too much of a fucking coward to face up to the consequences of his own desires. 

“Petra, I,” he stutters for a moment, amazed at this ridiculous gnawing fear within him, until his gaze falls on the blush of her cheeks, her teeth chewing nervously on her lower lip. There’s a need that fills him, a need for her to understand that he remembers everything, remembers that it was his teeth nipping at her lower lip that night, coaxing her mouth open for him. A need to explain how much he wishes he could do it all over again, wishes the first time he held her in his arms, he’d done it right, that he’d taken in every heated breath, every gasp, every arch of her back and kissed her with the sweet softness that she deserved. So he reaches forward, and as gently as he can, brushes his lips against hers, and whispers, “… I only wish I could experience it again.”


End file.
